


These strange things happen all the time

by antlersantlers



Category: Magnolia (1999), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Illustrations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Journalist Rey (Star Wars), Misogyny, Parent Death, Pick-up Artist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antlersantlers/pseuds/antlersantlers
Summary: Journalist Rey Johnson gets the opportunity to interview Kylo Ren—a true blue, dyed-in-the-wool, King Shit pick-up artist. It's a chance to take him down a peg, and she certainly won't squander it.Or, an extremely niche Magnolia AU that precisely two people wanted.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 23
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somethingdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingdifferent/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Don't lean in to the weird Magnolia shit too hard.  
> Also me: _Unless_...........
> 
> Big thank you to [Mel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somewhere_overthe_Reylo), [adnwahsal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adnwahsal), and [Jess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SithyNein/pseuds/SithyNein) for beta reading for me!

* * *

There are, on average, fewer than 0.5 lightning strikes per year in Coldfoot, Alaska. Until June 24, 2001, only half of the residents had ever seen a bolt of lightning. On that overcast afternoon, a young woman named Thora Haddad was walking along the main road when a "bolt from the blue," originating from a storm cell some 11 miles southwest, struck her. She survived the strike; but it did, however, cause her shoes to catch fire. Thora would henceforth be nicknamed “Hotfeet.” Oddly enough, June 24, 2001, was the first day of the very first ever Lightning Safety Awareness Week, an initiative of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association to educate the public about this dangerous phenomenon. She would leave Coldfoot that year, moving to St. Cloud, Minnesota to study meteorology. As a child, she often asked her mother to tell her stories of her namesake—Thor, the Norse god of lightning. Thora never wondered about the etymology of her surname, gained from a father she never knew. That name, Haddad, is that of the ancient Mesopotamian god of lightning. 

What an odd coincidence. Perhaps it was only a matter of chance. 

* * *

On May 4, 1924, in Wabash, Indiana, Elle Randolph won the greater Wabash County High School spelling bee. She won by correctly spelling the word "pantograph" ( _noun_ , an apparatus on the roof of an electric train, collecting power through an overhead line). She beat her longtime academic rival, a young man by the name of Lionel Wilson. He lost the contest when he incorrectly spelled the word "fisticuffs" ( _noun_ , fighting with the fists). He adamantly claimed her toe-tapping distracted him, a claim she would as adamantly refute her entire life. 

In the subsequent 12 years, Ms. Randolph and Mr. Wilson had absolutely no contact until they met by chance on the Chicago North Shore and Milwaukee Railroad. The former rivals boarded opposite ends of the northbound train car at the Wabash & Randolph Street station. According to an observer’s account, once the two saw one another they immediately began loudly and aggressively spelling. Another train passenger noted that the volume was considerable and the words were of escalating difficulty. The dispute eventually came to “an outbreak of fisticuffs,” the conductor said. They were removed from the train and arrested at the Wilson Street station, and Ms. Randolph was charged with assault. Despite that, the police report stated she was positively gleeful, remarking, “This is the second time I beat Lionel over a pantograph, and I hope it won’t be the last.” 

Perhaps this was just “one of those things.” Coincidences happen all the time. 

* * *

On August 2, 1982, Mr. Harold Silver was on a cross-country flight when he choked on a complimentary pretzel. His row-mate saved his life by performing the Heimlich maneuver, which he had only recently learned after almost choking to death himself several days prior. Mr. Silver was incredibly grateful to the young man and invited him to his family’s holiday supper. As he had no family in the area, the young man accepted. When his guest arrived at the Silver household, he was introduced to all as John “Jack” Gold and was seated next to Mr. Silver’s only daughter, Jillian “Jill” Silver. Jack & Jill. Silver & Gold. 

Unbeknownst to Mr. Silver, the two had met three days prior across the country at a dive bar in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The two bonded over their paired names, and spent the entire evening engrossed in conversation. Working up the courage to ask for her telephone number, Jack Gold stopped at the bar for a refresh of his drink and a handful of peanuts. A rogue nut lodged in his throat, and he eventually found someone in the crowded bar knowledgeable _and_ sober enough to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him. In the intervening minutes, however, Jill’s friends grew impatient. Thinking he had wandered off and unable to find him, she left with her friends and returned to her apartment to pack for her upcoming trip home to California. She wrote off the encounter as happenstance until he walked into her parent’s house in Berkeley. The two spent another night engrossed in conversation, but this time telephone numbers were exchanged. They married three months later. 

What are the odds of the two men, Silver & Gold, sitting next to one another on an airplane? Was it chance that brought together Jack & Jill at a bar across the country? Kismet that taught Jack the Heimlich maneuver that would save Mr. Gold’s life? 

Were these all mere Matters of Chance? No. It cannot be. These strange things happen all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not reading Jane's [p-a-n-d-e-m-o-n-i-u-m](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24399001/chapters/58856194) spelling bee AU, fix that immediately.
> 
> Actual relevant content coming in the next chapter, I just couldn't resist a prologue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some misogynist language (which was pretty unpleasant to write) and references a character death.
> 
> I hope this will be enjoyable even if you've never seen _Magnolia_ , but there will be some strange hyper-specific weirdness for fans of the film. But also, go watch [_Magnolia_](https://www.justwatch.com/us/movie/mag-noli-a)! It's the shortest 3 hour 9 minute movie you'll ever watch!
> 
> Big thank you to [Mel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somewhere_overthe_Reylo), [adnwahsal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adnwahsal), and [Jess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SithyNein/pseuds/SithyNein) for beta reading for me!

* * *

An assistant met her at the door to the hotel. “He just started,” the nervous-looking man said, herding her toward the conference rooms. 

“He just started,” the nervous-looking man said, herding her toward the conference rooms. 

Kylo Ren’s face was plastered all over the lobby, looking intense and ready to degrade any and all women. He was why she and a throng of angry men were here today, to see the great Kylo Ren. 

She could tell his assistant (Mitaka, she reminded herself. _Always greet people by name_ , her mentor taught her) was eager to get her inside quickly, but she couldn’t help but toy with him a little. Rey stopped walking to adjust her shoe, using his shoulder for support as if he were no more than a wall. Calmly smoothing her gray pencil skirt, she ran her hands over her hair, pulled tight into a professional bun. 

“Right this way,” Mitaka all but pleaded. 

She smiled and followed him into the darkened room. She greeted her cameraman, Finn, with a light pat on the shoulder. He was set up by the soundboard, recording the first five minutes of his presentation (but _absolutely no more_ , per their negotiation with his agent). 

“All set up?” she asked. 

He nodded. “Kay is setting up in the suite. As soon as this shit is over, I’ll join her and we’ll be good to go.” She couldn’t see well in the darkness, but she could hear his eyes roll when he said _this shit_. 

_This shit_ , it turned out, was a very popular lecture. It was aimed at lonely men who were ready to resort to shady behavior to sleep with women. The promotional materials promised you’d learn to TAME HER and you’d NEVER SUBMIT to a woman again. While prepping for the interview, her team had taken to shouting anything the pamphlets or website wrote in all caps. 

Mitaka tugged at her silk sleeve like a child, and she pityingly followed him to her designated seat near the back. He handed her the official booklets, and, as if on cue, the music started. 

She scoffed at the choice. Imperial was the first word that came to mind, bringing back memories of actual royalty to whom she was culturally bound as a Brit. This was all pomp, very little circumstance. 

A light came on from above the stage, illuminating an enormous, broad figure on the stage. Imposing was a word that sprung to mind. Intimidating by design, she speculated. All you could see was the outline of his form as he raised his arms, muscled and thick, to extend outwards. When the music reached its most powerful, the stage lights came on and there he was. 

Kylo Ren. 

The master misogynist was wearing all black: black shirt, black jeans, black shoes, black underwear (if she had to guess). Every part of his outfit was too tight. Rey surmised that with this crowd, it was to elicit jealousy and show off the physique he clearly worked hard on. And in other situations, ones he would instruct about here, it was to show off those same features to unsuspecting women. _Not women. Conquests_ , the reading material informed her. 

He punched upwards and flexed his muscles, hyping himself and his audience up. He shook his head like an animal, his jet black almost-shoulder length hair pulled halfway back to keep it somewhat out of his face. By way of introduction, he let out a growl into the microphone nestled along his defined jawbone. 

“Men!” he shouted. Clearly the sound staff had a lot of work cut out for them. “Welcome. Welcome to the day your lives change. Welcome to your new life, where you make the rules.” 

“Say goodbye to being a slave to pussy. Sayonara to being controlled by snatch. We are men, and we will _not_ be influenced by a little cunt.” 

He was pacing along the stage, the only thing illuminated in the entire room, lights following him as he darted erratically. His cadence was dramatic and slow, emphasizing words with a predatory glint in his eye and an arch of his eyebrow. 

“The _pussy_ is yours to take. It is in our _nature_ to take it, and it is in theirs to submit. _Know_ that you can take whatever you want, and then _take_ it. You are a _conqueror_. You are a _king_. You are the _supreme leader_ , and you _will_ take what you want. Women are not your friends. They are _tools_ for your pleasure. They exist to please _you_.” 

On stage Kylo instructed them to turn to page 16 in their booklets so they could work on “the mentality of domination.” 

Even though Finn was filming, Rey dutifully opened her booklet and took notes. She thought this was too preposterous to take seriously, but the hall was full of men nodding and voicing their agreement. Before attending, she hoped she could predict the demographic; but he appeared to appeal to all sorts. It made her wonder about all the men in her life — bosses, coworkers, baristas, neighbors, bartenders. They all looked normal enough, but who among them was harboring these same values? 

His lecture, such as it was, touched on many different points of his “seduction” method: degradation, manipulation, domination. He had rules, all geared towards a man’s pleasure and breaking women down. During sex, students of his method were always to be on top. 

“No goddamn cunnilingus,” Kylo spat. 

The screen behind him lit up with text: You do not eat pussy. 

He clarified. “Sometimes chicks are whiny. They want you to make them feel good, so if you must— absolutely must,” he sneered, “—make it quick. It’s never about her, though; it is _always_ in service of getting her ready for you. You are the king, and you will get on your knees for no woman.” He emphasized each word by aggressively pointing with his massive hands. 

Her pocket buzzed and she glanced down to see a text from Finn: _What’s the over/under on this dude having a tiny dick?_

She chuckled and quickly sent back a pinching fingers emoji. But when she looked up at Kylo Ren on the stage, she couldn’t help speculating. The spotlight shone mostly on his upper body, and of course he was wearing all black so she couldn’t quite see his crotch clearly. She could tell he was tall though. And those hands. 

She snapped back to the lecture when he raised an eyebrow and proclaimed all women to be “cum dumpsters.” Rey groaned and mumbled, “Jesus fucking christ, who hurt you?” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it was just _so much_. The men sitting around her all turned to stare, making her keenly aware that she was not in a friendly space. She raised her hands in what she thought was an apologetic gesture, but it only earned grumbles and swears from all around. The guy in front of her called her a cunt, earning the agreement of the man next to him. They smiled at one another and talked about how she was just like the rest. She tried to hide her further disgust and keep her mouth shut for the rest of the session. 

He walked the group through a scenario wherein he walked into a bar and, in a matter of minutes, could convince a woman to fuck him. If it doesn’t work that quickly, move on. She’s not worth it ( _but according to him_ , Rey noted, _they’re_ never _worth it_ ). She wondered if anyone had tried hitting on her with this method? Had she noticed? Would she now? 

Moving on was big for him, she noticed. He was clear you should never dwell on the opinions of women. Whatever romantic or sexual scars existed in your past, move on from them. Forget rejection and instead focus on what you can take. _Who hurt you?_ she wondered again. 

She endured 45 more minutes before he led the crowd in a chant of “Tame the cunt!” and the lights came up on a sea of men thumping each other on the back, bumping chests, hyping each other up. They all seemed to simultaneously rejoice and recoil at the physical contact from the men, especially now that the lights were on. 

Kylo Ren exited the stage, shaking the hands of his sycophants as he made his way over to where she waited by the side door. He strode up to her, looking her dead in the eyes, and got unnecessarily close. His hand was on the small of her back and he pulled her in to quietly tell her, “You’re not safe here,” barely audible over the din of the crowd. She cocked her head towards the door, held open by Mitaka, and his giant hand ushered her through it. As soon as they were moving down the hall, she shifted her bag to dislodge his hand at her back. 

They arrived at a suite where Finn and Kaydel had already set up the cameras and lights. Two upholstered chairs were positioned opposite each other, and she moved over to the one closest to Finn’s camera and set her bag down next to it. 

Her attention shifted as Kylo stormed into the room, whooping as he removed his shirt in one swift motion. 

“That was amazing, right?” he said to the room, to his people probably, though his eyes met hers briefly. She tried not to look at his broad chest and smell too deeply when he spun his sweat-drenched shirt around. Rey glanced back to her notebook, but when she heard the clink of a belt buckle, she couldn’t help but look back in confusion. Sure enough, he had divested himself of his pants and was now jumping around shadow boxing. 

She had to make herself stop staring. Not only was he wearing tighty whities but he was definitely half hard. _And you’re a fucking professional_ , she chided herself internally. She did quickly take out her phone and texted Finn a quick eggplant emoji. 

“Fuckin’ A,” she heard Finn mutter. 

Kaydel’s whispered “Oh _shit_ ,” made her turn toward the intern, finding her with her jaw practically on the floor. 

“ _Oi_ ,” Rey hissed, and Kaydel snapped back to reality and resumed checking the sound levels. 

She glanced back in time to see his ass disappear into a pair of clean pants. Black again. _Deep breaths_ , she reminded herself when he turned around, still shirtless, and looked at her in the eyes. 

“Don’t you have something you can wear to cover up?” she said gesturing with her hand, her voice less firm than she wanted. 

He smirked at her as he sat down in his chair, legs spread wide like a jackass on the subway. He snapped his fingers at Mitaka, who scurried away, presumably to find a shirt. 

He extended an enormous hand towards her. “I’m Kylo Ren, but you can call me Kylo.” His introduction had clearly been used in many bars on many women. 

She took his hand in hers, feeling the size of a doll compared to him. “Rey Johnson. But call me Rey, please,” she said with a professional shake and a tight smile. 

“Let’s do this thing, sweetheart,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I was on fire today. I’m a king-maker. All those men are going to thank me when they’re knee-deep in pussy tonight.” 

Rey kept her expression controlled but friendly as she took her seat across from him. Mitaka appeared with a fresh shirt and he pulled it on over his head, immediately concealing all the moles she had just noticed. When she raised her gaze to his face, he winked at her so quickly she wasn’t sure it happened but he followed it up with a raised eyebrow. She was grateful she had skipped breakfast because his _whole thing_ was making her nauseous. 

“Should we start the interview?” she asked, patiently. 

“We weren’t already rolling?” he scoffed. “I’ve been spouting pearls here, baby! You’ve missed so much gold already.” 

Kylo had undone his hair so it fell towards his face. He ran his fingers through it, dark and shiny with sweat. He started pulling it back again and she briefly got a glimpse of his ears. They were huge, just like his nose, but hidden behind his long hair. _That must be why he keeps it long_ , she thought. He had to own his uncommon features, making them a part of his appeal. But he could hide his ears. _I wonder if he got teased because of them_ , she thought, idly chewing on the end of her pen. 

Rey had a handful of shamelessly almost-sexual gestures at the ready. This interview was a game she intended to win. She was ready to bite her lip or lick her lips or suck on the end of her pen. Anything with your mouth, really, and men like Kylo Ren would jump to the most foolish conclusions. For this interview she kept her makeup soft, making her seem more natural and therefore naive and harmless. Her tucked-in creamy silk blouse was technically business casual, but she undid one more button than she would normally for drinks (and two more than she would for a professional meeting). If she leaned forward just so, he could see just a sliver of her bra. She wouldn't lean, but they’d both know she could. The cap sleeves showed off her toned arms; nothing quite as overwhelmingly muscular as his, but certainly still impressive. She had splurged on a manicure so her nails were perfectly, innocently pink. His eyes followed her fingers as she gently traced her bottom lip. She tried not to laugh at how well this was going already, even before the cameras were rolling. 

She looked back at Finn and nodded. He counted them down and it was time. 

“Today I’m interviewing Kylo Ren, the controversial self-help author and speaker—” she said, noticing his wince. 

“I’m not a self-help author,” he interrupted. “That makes me sound like I’m some kind of— can I swear? No?— some kind of goddamn chicken soup for the soul moron.” His voice was already getting louder. 

“How would you describe yourself then?” 

“I’m a teacher,” he sneered. “I guide men in the ways of sex and courtship, showing them the best, most effective methods to get laid.” 

“What makes you so certain these are the best methods?” 

“Oh sweetheart, I know,” he said derisively. “Believe me, I know.” He cocked his eyebrow again. 

Feeling a fresh wave of rage, she felt her eye twitch involuntarily. She hoped he didn’t notice. 

“Do you want me to show you? I could have you if I wanted,” he goaded. 

She barely smiled, maintaining her most neutral mask. Her calm was her best weapon in this interview. “We’ll see. I’m more curious about you. You’re originally from New York, right?” 

“Yes, I grew up here,” he answered succinctly. 

“How does it feel to be back in your old stomping grounds?” 

“It’s fine. There are as many women to sleep with here as there are in LA, so in that respect it’s more than fine.” 

“Does your family still live here?” 

“Yes, my father still does. Unfortunately, my mother died years ago.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, practiced and steady. “Are you and your father close?” 

“Yes. We talk all the time.” 

“What do you think your mother would think of your work?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, she’s a woman and your system doesn’t exactly treat women favorably.” She kept her tone measured and her volume steady. 

“I doubt she’d think of me at all,” was all he said in reply. 

She glanced at her steno pad, despite knowing every word of her prepared questions. “What was your upbringing like?” 

“I don’t— I don’t see how that is relevant. Aren’t we supposed to be talking about my new book?” 

She smiled. “Sure. I read your book. Both of them, actually. Thank you for the advance copy, by the way.” She stares at him, not breaking eye contact. “The new book is called _Supremacy_ , and in it you say you went to NYU and then Columbia. Is that right?” 

“Yes. I got my undergrad in psychology and then a masters in journalism.” 

“Is that how you got interested in pick-up artists and bar culture?” 

“What do you mean?” 

She looked down, pretending to consult her notes. “Well I found some pieces you wrote while you were at Columbia. They appear to be some of the investigative pieces that formed the basis of your first book.” 

“How did you find those?” 

“A source,” she responded simply ( _Never underestimate a source_ , her mentor had stressed). “Your tone in those pieces is decidedly less aggressive and far more skeptical than the material that ended up in your first book— _The First Order_.” 

“I figured out I could do what they were doing, but better. With better results. I developed a smarter system.” His words were becoming clipped and she could tell he was fighting to keep his breathing measured. 

“Is Kylo Ren your given name?” 

“No, it’s a name I adopted when I was researching my first book.” 

“The fake name you gave women?” 

“Yes.” He stared at her. His eyes had yet to stray from her as she went through her questions. “Can I get some coffee?” he bellowed, eyes still trained on her. She could hear his assistant scuttling away. 

“How did you decide on it?” 

“I just made it up. It means nothing, just like picking up women means nothing. I want to get my dick wet, and this is just one of the tools I use to achieve my goals.” She could tell this was more comfortable territory for him. She recognized the beginnings of his ramp-up from the hours of videos she watched to prepare. 

“That’s quite the philosophy,” she replied, affecting a good-natured smile. 

“My system is about finding your place in the world. I will take what’s mine, and if that includes a blowjob from some chick, why the hell not?” His satisfaction was all over his face, with his smug grin and dismissive eyes. 

“What was your upbringing like?” She was tempted to uncross her legs, but she knew that she’d benefit from staying put. Fidgeting showed weakness, and she wasn’t prepared to give away any ground. 

“You already asked that.” 

“But you didn’t answer.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he responded immediately. 

“I’m just a bit curious about your background,” she continued, her pace measured. “I just want to clarify some of the things you said, both in your new book, _Supremacy_ , and in this interview.” 

“To what end?” 

“Pardon?” 

“What is the point of asking me about my past? It’s entirely unnecessary. My system is all about moving forward,” he said, leaning forward and aggressively gesturing with his hands. 

“Well, it’s important to know who you are—” 

“It’s not important. I have far more important, far more interesting things to talk about than the past.” 

“Well _I_ think it’s important, and I think the viewers will think it’s important—” 

“No,” he shouted. He shut his eyes for a moment as he took a deep breath. “‘Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.’ Chapter eight,” he quoted with practiced ease. 

“Right, your book. Earlier, you mentioned your relationship with your father and your mother’s death. I’m trying to figure out the best way to put this.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and she remembered all the walk-throughs and prep work they had done. She was going to hold it together, no matter how tough. She blinked twice to help relax her eye muscles and soften her gaze. “I was told your situation is the exact opposite. Your father died and your mother is still alive. Is that true?” 

He sat back in his chair, defiantly staring at her. “So this is the attack portion of the interview? Do I have that right?” 

“Well, I just have some questions about the _facts_ of your life—” 

He started talking over her. “So you’re going to attack me. Drag my good name through the mud. Alright, let’s go. Do your worst. To hell with journalistic integrity, right? Come on. Let’s do it.” His voice was booming and forceful. Rey could practically feel it. 

“Do you remember Luke Skywalker?” she asked, moderate and calm. 

His ire was immediate. She watched his jaw clamp shut and his nostrils flare. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair so hard she wondered if he could rip them off. 

“What about him?” he ground out eventually. 

“According to my research, after your father died, your mother left you in Mr. Skywalker’s care. He is her twin brother, I believe.” 

“That is all bullshit. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” The missing _bitch_ at the end of his sentence was clear from his tone. He was so loud Rey could feel herself tensing up. There was so much force behind his words. She anticipated a reaction like this, but it was another thing entirely to be on the receiving end. 

“I spoke to Mr. Skywalker,” she said. That seemed to get his attention, refocusing his fury. “And I was able to obtain some records. You’re listed as the only child of Leia Organa and Han Solo, who passed in 1993 when you were about ten. Is that correct?” 

He remained silent, staring at her, his death grip on the chair unwavering. 

“These details are important, Kylo. People deserve to know your family history. Your _actual_ family history.” 

“What’s your fucking question?” he bit out. 

She paused, taking her time, looking at him with her soft eyes. “My question, Kylo, is why did you lie?” 

She could see his jaw tighten but he didn’t answer. She waited for what felt like an eternity, familiar with the technique of using silence to force the other person to fill the void. 

“Kylo?” she ventured. She anticipated his anger, but this silence was unnerving in a different way. Terrifying, but in a completely new way. “What are you—” she trailed off. 

“I’m judging you. Mentally.” 

“Oh,” she managed. 

And then she waited. She glanced at the clock on the wall. They still had 10 more minutes of interview time scheduled, but he just sat and stared. 

Rey tried to maintain eye contact, but it was harder when they weren’t talking. She had the upper hand, she knew she did, but his eyes on her made her feel so small. She looked at Kaydel, looking at Finn, everyone shaking their heads and shrugging. 

After the interminable 10 minutes, Kylo leapt out of his chair and yanked off his lav mic. Before Kaydel could move to collect it, he whipped the battery pack towards the camera at full force. 

“What the hell? So you waited it out?” she asked in disbelief. 

He leapt out of his chair. He groaned, but it sounded almost like a growl. “I’m a man of my word. I said I’d give you the time, and I did.” 

“A man of your word?!” she parroted incredulously, standing up to match him. “I asked you one difficult question and you shut down like a child!” 

He took a single step to close the gap between them and was immediately in her face. “You attacked me. What kind of fucking nerve do you have asking me about my fucking family? What the fuck do you even know about family?” 

He was so close to her face it was impossible for him to miss her flinch. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, grabbing her bag and walking towards the hallway. He walked in step with her, glaring behind him to ensure no one would follow. 

“Huh,” he said, as they entered the quiet hallway. 

She spun to face him, finally letting her anger poke through her facade. “What? What now, you absolute ass?” She realized when she saw his smirk that she was in trouble. 

“Did mummy or daddy not love you enough? Mummy _and_ daddy?” He was studying her face as he goaded her. “Did they send you off to America all by yourself? Living here, all alone, no one to care about you.” 

“Eat shit,” she said, but her voice was barely more than a whisper. While she fiercely held his gaze during their interview, now she could barely lift her face from her shoes. 

“So you are alone,” he said confidently. He took a step forward, forcing her back against the wall. Kylo gained the upper hand in all other interviews because he could read people, use people. He read their weaknesses, their anger, their frustration, and threw it back at them. _His stupid psychology degree_ , she remembered from all the prep. 

“So _lonely_. Picking at someone’s family wounds because you don’t have any of your own.” Rey could feel his breath almost more than she could hear him. His voice was quiet and taunting, for her alone. “Is that why you attacked me?” 

“I didn’t attack you,” she attempted to counter, finally looking at him again. Her voice was so light compared to his. His tone was backed by pure strength, unwielded but ever-present. 

“Bullshit. You knew _exactly_ what you were doing. You were needling me, provoking me. You were trying to _embarrass_ me,” he said, lacking the anger of his earlier accusation. He lifted her chin, gently bringing her gaze back to his eyes. “Tell me, Rey. When you go home tonight, who will be waiting for you?” 

Kylo paused, allowing him to watch every tiny movement of her features. He smirked and continued, “I’m going to take my frustrations and channel it into fucking some random slut. Where will all your research, all your hard work, have gotten you tonight? Nowhere. You’ll go home alone, to your empty apartment, just like you always do.” 

He took a single step back, winked, and sauntered back into his suite. She could hear him assuring his entourage that everything was fine and he needed to get ready for the next session and someone better get him some fucking coffee. 

Rey just stood there, clutching her bag, trying to remember how breathing worked. 

She knew he was good at that, zeroing in on weakness; she didn’t expect him to find hers so fast and for it to decimate her so thoroughly. She walked down the empty hall, hopefully towards an exit, but she tripped over her own feet and landed hard on her knees. The contents of her bag spilled across the floor and she crammed everything back in as fast as she could manage. Scrambling to her feet, the tears threatened to spill from her eyes. No, not here. Not when he was still close enough to hear. He might have cut her deeply, but he would never get the satisfaction of making her cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sometimes I post reylo drawings on [twitter](https://twitter.com/allielittlelegs), but mostly I tweet about disability stuff and libraries.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to [Mel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somewhere_overthe_Reylo), [adnwahsal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adnwahsal), and [Jess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SithyNein/pseuds/SithyNein) for beta reading for me!

* * *

Kylo phoned in the second half of the seminar. He was unbalanced, distracted by some stuck-up slut in a tight skirt. 

“God fucking damn it,” he growled, swinging his fist at the wall and nearly decking his agent. Hux barely looked up from his phone, accustomed to his outbursts. 

“Bee in your bonnet?” Hux asked, still scrolling through twitter. 

“Fuck off,” Kylo steamed. He didn’t need to deal with this right now. “How the fuck did she know about that shit? I thought you buried it?” 

They arrived at the empty suite, still set up for the interview but without the lights and cameras. He stormed over and kicked the chair she had used, toppling it towards his own. 

“We did,” Hux added, finally stopping to meet his eyes. “I was assured by my contact that everything was taken care of. I don’t know how that lazy excuse for a journalist found any of that out. Must have slept with someone to get it.” 

Kylo huffed. “No doubt.” His mind was racing non-stop with the filthiest, most deplorable things he could call her. 

_What does she think of your work?_

“Fuck!” he screamed. The last thing he needed was to remember the respectful feminist lessons Leia tried to impart. His reaction caused Mitaka to jump. The kid was pathetic, but loyal and hardworking. The boys should take him out, toughen him up. 

“Get me a car and a drink. _Now_.” 

* * *

Rey sat down at the end of the bar, signaling to the handsome bartender to refill her glass. Finn and Kay had been drinking with her, but they had worked late enough editing the interview. Apparently they had lives to resume— significant others, plans, etc. _Rude_ , Rey thought. _Just stay and drink with me. Plans are for suckers._

A man took the seat next to her, despite the many empty seats along the bar. He was cute-ish, if a little plain. Certainly nothing like the tall, dark, handsome— _No. Don’t go there._ Mediocre as he was, he didn’t talk to her. He didn’t even look at her. 

“Do you need something?” she snapped. 

“You,” was all he said. She rolled her eyes, not that he saw with his eyes laser focused on the TV behind the bar. She’s definitely more interesting than a damn Law & Order rerun. 

“Me?” she asked, incredulous. “And what makes you think you’ll get me?” 

He took a long sip of his beer. An IPA, of fucking course. “I don’t think I’ll get you. I _know_ it.” 

“You haven’t even asked my name,” she said, disgusted with his misplaced arrogance. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, finally looking at her. He was certainly average looking, but his confidence was off the charts. But there was also something so familiar in how he phrased his absurd statements. 

_Don’t think you will, know you will. Never worry about her needs. We are men, and our needs come first._

“Oh my god!” she shouted, everything hitting her all at once. She slapped her palm down on this sad man’s shoulder. “Are you one of those ‘First Order’ Knights of Ren morons?” 

In that second all his bravado vanished. He looked so deflated, hunched and staring into his drink. _Got it in one_ , she thought. 

“Fuck you,” he muttered at her, angrily pushing away from the bar and stomping off to bother someone else. She was still grinning and giggling when the bartender approached. 

“Do you want another?” he eyed her tentatively. She must really look off her bean. 

“That idiot just tried to hit on me using some awful pick up artist method,” she barely managed in between gasping laughs. “And the funny thing is! I just interviewed him! Today!” 

“Who?” 

“Kylo Ren. King of the assholes,” she informed him, pushing her glass forward with a nod. 

“Who is that?” he asked, making her a fresh drink. She had considered ordering a cocktail, but a vodka soda got the job done without all the faff. 

“He is a big shot seducer! He’s an absolute behemoth monster mountain of a man, who takes pride in using and destroying women.” Her foggy brain appeared to be emphasizing words at random. 

“Sounds like a jerk,” the bartender replied dutifully, placing her drink onto a fresh white napkin and sliding it across the bar. 

“He is!” she exclaimed, too fast, too earnest. “He thinks he’s _so_ handsome, and _so_ much smarter than _all_ women. But you know what? He’s not smarter than me.” 

“I bet.” 

“I’m very smart! I saw that slimer coming a mile away,” she gestured toward the also-ran. 

“Good for you,” he wiped down the bar top around her. 

“I’ve heard he has a huge dick though,” she murmured. 

“That guy?” he pointed to the milquetoast failure. 

“No no no, Kylo Ren. Before I interviewed him, I talked to a bunch of women who had slept with him. For research.” Rey realized she was gesturing more than normal, so she put the hand unoccupied with her drink under her bum. That would probably keep her from knocking anything over or smacking an unsuspecting passer-by. “Apparently he has a giant schlong and he knows what to do with it. They weren’t even that upset that he didn’t care about how they felt! They all seemed like such smart women…” she trailed off. 

“Different strokes, I guess.” This guy was a veritable lexicon of bar platitudes. 

“Would you sleep with someone who didn’t respect you? Who openly detested you if you thought it was going to be incredible?” 

“Maybe,” he said. He was cleaning glasses, straightening piles of napkins. 

“I wouldn’t. I’m sure of it. Those girls deserved better than some suave big-dicked asshole.” 

“You sure are talking about his dick a lot.” 

“ _They_ talked about his dick a lot. I sort of almost saw it today.” 

“I thought you interviewed him.” 

“I was! He took off his pants! Like a complete lunatic! Like some depraved, handsome, suave, dark, handsome jerk.” 

“You said handsome twice.” 

“Did I?” Rey asked earnestly. She hadn’t meant to call him handsome at all. 

“You’ve been talking about how good-looking he is a lot. You sure you don’t have a thing for this guy?” 

Her face scrunched up and she mock-retched. “Absolutely not. He’s the worst. The absolute worst. Disgusting. Horrible. Deplorable.” She could have kept going, but her conversation partner had to return to his actual job. He didn’t want to listen to a strange woman’s rant all night. Not that she was going to. 

Rey downed the last of her drink. Her third, if the balled up cocktail napkins were to be believed. “I can’t believe someone actually hit on me with his method. What are the odds,” she mused out loud. 

She was becoming a That Drunk Lady tonight. Alone, rambling to anyone that would listen, babbling to no one. _Fuck_ , she thought. _I’m all alone._

_So you are alone. Picking at someone’s family wounds because you don’t have any of your own._

“Fuck,” she rumbled, slamming her fist on the bar. One more drink, then she’ll go. Maybe not home, but somewhere. 

* * *

Kylo hated drinking alone, but it was a necessary evil after the day he had. There was no way he was going to drink with Hux or Mitaka, and his usual posse was on the other coast texting him pics of their conquests. There was a rooftop party, sponsored by a disgusting flavored vodka, and apparently all the women were stupid and horny. His Knights were cleaning up. 

For some reason he didn’t want stupid right now. He had the urge to have a conversation, or at the very least to argue with someone. 

Not just anyone though, and he bristled knowing who he wanted to chat up. Someone worthy of both his ire and his time. Someone smart and pretty and fiery, unafraid to ask the questions she knew he’d hate. Someone who could hold her own against his bullshit. Because that’s definitely what it was. Bullshit. He developed his “system” because he knew he could do it 

better than every other asshole out there. And he did, and now there are so many more assholes out there. 

When he was feeling this way ( _emotional_ , he reluctantly admitted) he needed to move. The best solution was fucking a stranger into oblivion, but that was off the table for tonight so he’d have to settle for exercise. Kylo pulled his hair out of his face and donned whatever workout clothes his assistant packed for him. _Basketball shorts?_ Whatever. If he were working out in LA he would put more effort into his attire. His elite gym membership was more business expense than personal, allowing him to be seen by his partying cohort and cavort with desperate, image-conscious women. It wasn’t a good workout unless he got an invite to an exclusive party or a blow job in his car. 

Working out in a hotel fitness center meant he could pull his hair all the way back and not worry about anyone seeing his ears. He could push himself hard and not worry about sweating too much to still be considered attractive. He didn’t have to stay flexed and tight every moment because no one would see him, and if they did it wouldn’t matter. They’d go home to Florida or Phoenix or Ottawa and forget ever seeing him. 

He skulked down to the gym, blissfully unoccupied on a Saturday night. Of course everyone was out having fun, getting laid. But here he was running 7 miles on a treadmill and watching Law & Order reruns on a muted wall-mounted TV. He downed a bottle of water he grabbed from his room, and regretted the tumbler of whiskey he had before coming down to work out. 

Once he felt disgusting and sweaty enough, he switched his focus to weights. They mostly had free weights, so he grabbed two 15-pound dumbbells in each hand. If he was stuck with giant bear paws, he might as well put them to good use. Despite a lighter weight than usual, he pushed himself to do a punishing number of reps. He wanted to feel it tomorrow, to have something about the day remain in his body. 

In LA if he wasn’t going to the gym, he worked out at home with a trainer. Sometimes they ran outside if it wasn’t too hot, but mostly they used his home gym. He had an image to maintain and couldn’t be seen drenched in sweat, out of breath, ears poking out, beet red from exertion. 

_“Oh honey bun, I like your ears,”_ he could hear his mother say. Kylo grunted as he dropped the weights— narrowly missing his feet. For that slip up, he’d make himself do pushups until his arms felt like noodles. 

An older woman stepped into the gym and looked at him curiously. He was a sight, to be sure— an enormous man wearing all black workout clothes, furiously doing pushups, muttering curses, and counting through gritted teeth. She opted for a recumbent bike at the opposite end of the room, and began slowly pedaling and watching tv. 

Eventually he conceded it was time to pack it in. He could barely lift the water to his lips. Somehow he hauled himself to his feet and made his way out of the gym, glancing at up at the episode the Midwestern Mom was watching. It just started, but he had seen it before. Kylo met her eyes and gave her the friendliest version of his smile. She returned it warmly, giving some banal, matronly greeting. 

“The IT guy did it,” he said, winking as he walked to the door. 

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she crowed after him. 

* * *

“I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind,” she said, closing an eye so only one phone appeared in her hand. 

She had his number. There were lots of details to be arranged before the interview, and one of those details was contact information. She could just call him up and yell to her heart’s content. Tonight she was taking a break from being Smart Rey, who didn’t take risks and went home like a responsible adult after drinking alone. Tonight she was Dumb Rey, who called her nemesis after drinking alone, after he made her cry on the subway as she headed back to the office. At least Dumb Rey was smart enough to drink a pint glass of water and pee before she left the bar. 

She hated making calls, but it was necessary in her profession and Kylo seemed like he was old enough that he might bemoan how “no one uses their phone as a phone anymore.” 

Pushing her way through the heavy door of the bar, Rey dialed his number. She had nowhere to go, and for whatever reason left looked appealing. The phone rang; then it stopped. She listened to the dead air, nearly forgetting why she held her phone to her ear.. 

“Hello?” his voice asked, deep and questioning. 

“You’re a fucking wanker, you know that?” 

“Jesus fucking christ.” 

“Your ridiculous system has spawned an entire swarm of disgusting men degrading women at bars all over this city.” 

“Not just this city,” he quipped. “I’ve been translated into thirty or so languages.” 

“You’re a pig, and you’re _teaching_ other men how to be pigs too.” She put a little mustard on the word teaching, remembering how much it irked her during the interview that he claimed to be a teacher. The nerve. The audacity. “I was harangued this very evening by some twerp using your system. Put him in his place though. Ran off with his tail between his legs.” She was more than a little proud to have spotted his techniques in the wild and dispatched him so quickly. 

“Not everyone has mastered the system yet,” he replied, so matter of fact. 

“Fuck off,” she sputtered. “You’re a goddamn menace. You should be locked up. Your books are criminally bad.” 

“Is that why you called? To tell me you don’t like my books?” 

“I _don’t_ like your books! But they’re hardly the worst part. Your videos are truly disgusting.” 

“You watched the videos?” The man sounded incredulous. 

“Oh, I’m supposed to come to an interview unprepared?” She knew she sounded obstinate, but at this time of night some things couldn’t be helped. “I’m not one of your empty-headed idiots, who will do whatever you tell them just because you’re good-looking.” 

“What was that last part?” 

“The worst one was the one where you talked to the guy, the little guy with the cargo shorts and the crush on his neighbor. He seemed so sweet! And by the end, you had taken his cute, innocent crush and turned it into some kind of torture the woman was using against him!” 

“I wasn’t wrong.” She held the phone away from her face and unleashed a frustrated scream into the street. Everything about this idiot man made her seethe and grind her teeth. 

“Yes, you were! He should have just talked to her!” 

“So if he were your neighbor and knocked on your door with flowers and told you he liked you, you would have gone on a date with him? Because that was his god-awful plan.” He sounded too calm, especially considering how worked up she was getting. 

Rey paused to think. The guy definitely wasn’t her type, and she had rejected many men who looked and acted just like him. But maybe his neighbor was different! Talking to her was definitely a better idea than ignoring her pleasantries at the mailboxes or berating her the next time they crossed paths at bar trivia. 

“I’ll take your silence as a no. Women like you are exactly the problem. You think talking will solve all your romantic problems, but when was the last time you said yes when some schlub asked you out?” 

“That’s not fair—” 

“How about tonight. You said a guy used my system. If he had just asked you out, would you have said yes?” 

“Well—” 

“For someone so smart, you’re really fucking dense.” She bristled at the compliment-insult double whammy. “I know exactly what you need.” 

“No, you don’t.” If there was one thing of which she was sure, it was that he had _no fucking clue_ what she needed. 

“Yes, I do. You need to be put in your place.” 

She scoffed. “And where is that place exactly?” 

“On your knees or face down in bed. Your choice. Stuffed with my cock either way.” 

“Fuck off.” Thank god they were on the phone so she didn’t have to hide the blush coloring her cheeks. She pressed her thighs together waiting for the light to change. 

He laughed. “You’d love it, I guarantee.” 

“Oh please. You don’t know the first thing about actually having decent sex, let alone great sex.” He didn’t need to know the last time Rey had sex was 8 months ago, and it had only been so-so. Since then it was a steady stream of cancelled dates. It wasn’t totally her fault. She was busy, and no one caught her interest. Her vibrator could do just as well and didn't require her to sit through subpar conversation and a mediocre dinner. 

“Teach me, O wise one! Impart some of your prim, dissatisfied British wisdom.” 

She thought back to her last lackluster hookup, and she had been anything but prim. She knew the guy enjoyed himself, but she was certainly more than he bargained for. She always was. 

“You’re an asshole.” 

“We both know that already. Come on. Tell me what I’m missing.” 

It was her turn to laugh. He had no idea what he was missing! All he knew was fucking and not sex. Where to even start? 

“When was the last time you went down on a woman?” 

“You read the book. You know I don’t do that shit.” 

“Wow, you are undoubtedly a disgustingly selfish lover,” she scoffed, slowly ambling along the sidewalk. She still didn’t know where she was headed, just letting the evening pull her where it wanted. 

“Are you just going to say shit I already know? I pay people for that.” 

“Fine,” she spat. _In for a penny_ , she thought. “I like getting it from behind as much as the next gal, but I love to ride.” She paused, hearing nothing on his end. 

“I’ll ride your cock, I’ll ride your face— I love being in control. I can see your stupid, smug, pretty face— which is nice— but I’m in charge of speed, depth, rhythm. I _love_ it. I mean, obviously the guy still has to do some of the work, but I’ll take the reins... as it were.” She was shuffling her feet as she practically danced down the sidewalk. Riling him up was so much fun. 

“You still there?” she asked. 

He cleared his throat. “Yup.” 

“Good. Also I like ass play.” 

“Fuck yeah, baby. I’d love to stick it in your ass—” 

“No,” she interrupted. “ _Your_ ass. I’ll definitely let a guy fuck me in the ass, but I love to peg a man too. Especially some hot and muscular himbo like you. I’m in charge, baby!” 

She tried to do a high kick, somehow forgetting she was still in her work clothes. Her pencil skirt rode up her legs, not enough for a full kick, but enough for a goofy prance and some snide remarks from some dudes taking a smoke break. 

“What the fuck,” he muttered. 

“Oh my god, have you never had anything in your ass?” She glared at the strangers passing her with dirty looks. _Mind your business, wankers. I’m a slut on a mission._

“No way. I like women, so why would I put anything in my ass when _I_ want to put _my_ dick in pussy?” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You are missing out! There are so many nerves in your asshole. It feels incredible. Haven’t you ever taken like a really good shit?” 

“Well yeah—” 

“And! And! _And!_ For you gents, it can stimulate your prostate! That, of course, depends on, like, depth and angle and whatever. Oh my god, I bet you’d love it!” She was practically shouting as she aimlessly walked past a slew of bars undoubtedly full of Kylo Ren devotees. 

“It still sounds gross,” he remarked softly. In her excitement, she hadn’t noticed how quiet he had gotten. 

She paused, sensing an opportunity. “You wanna try it?” 

“What? Fuck no. Jesus.” 

“Suit yourself. You’re really missing out though.” Rey knew it would get a rise out of him. Either that or he’d genuinely be interested. Not that she wanted that. 

“I doubt it,” he tutted. 

“Well if you’ve never had anything in your bum, you can’t make a valid judgement! Case closed!” 

“So you’re saying in order to have good sex, I need to let a chick ride me and stick something up my butt?” 

“And eat her out, yes. Not necessarily all three, but I certainly wouldn’t say no.” 

“You wouldn’t?” he faltered. 

“Hypothetically,” she stressed. She looked around at where she had wandered. Rey loved walking and exploring, even in her fancy work shoes. She let herself walk and listen, hearing only his light breathing on the other end. 

They both said nothing for far too long. When she realized they hadn’t spoken in a minute or so, it made her feel twitchy and anxious— exposed, almost. 

“Why aren’t you out on the prowl looking for chicks to nail? It sounds quiet on your end.” 

He breathed out a small laugh. “Uh, no. I’m taking it easy tonight.” 

“I thought, and I quote, ‘There are as many women to sleep with here as there are in LA, so in that respect it’s more than fine.’” She lowered her voice, still not even close to register, and affected her best American accent. 

“That’s a fucking garbage impression.” 

“No, it’s dead on,” she declared. More empty space. 

“I didn’t feel like going out. I didn’t really want to talk to a bunch of randos.” 

“You’re talking to me,” she replied. She could hear him shuffling around on the other end. Maybe the clink of a glass? 

“You’re not random, and this is more like fighting.” 

“It _was_ , now we’re just talking.” 

“I guess so.” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Water.” 

“Wow, really?” she asked, genuinely surprised. He didn’t seem like one to abstain from drinking on a Saturday night. 

“Well I had a few drinks earlier, but I had a hard workout earlier so I’m rehydrating.” 

Rey tried not to picture his intense muscles she had glimpsed before the interview. She tried not to picture how his strong arms could pick her up and throw her around like a ragdoll. She tried not to think about how much power his legs could generate with a single thrust. 

Instead, she tried to joke. “Ooh, a hard workout,” she mocked. She was thrilled at another opportunity to tease him. “If only a strong, handsome man like you would swoop in and rescue from having my own thoughts! Please, sir, use me and spare me from the indignity of an orgasm!” 

She waited for his sarcastic reply, but it never came. 

“That’s the fourth time you’ve called me handsome.” 

Rey froze mid-step. “No it isn’t.” 

“Well, you called me good-looking, then pretty, then hot and muscular— and now, handsome.” 

“That’s just— I was speaking broadly. Of a vague idea of some man.” 

“No you weren’t,” he corrected, adopting a much quieter tone. Was this asshole using her quiet talking, space-leaving technique to get her to talk? Had he been doing that this whole time? 

“Yes, I was,” she stubbornly argued. 

“Sure, Rey. Of course you were.” Her name in his mouth sent a shiver up her spine. 

She kept walking but not saying anything. It was his turn to fill the silence. 

“So where are you? Out on the town looking to find some gentle man who will let you fuck his ass?” She smiled when he said _gentle man_ instead of gentleman. Some nights that was exactly what she was looking for. Not tonight though. 

“Don’t forget, he has to eat me out,” she said. “Something like that.” She didn’t mean to sound so melancholy, but he had only pried her apart hours earlier and she was still recovering. She was undeniably, achingly lonely. Her friends and coworkers all had _people_ , and it’s not like she wanted to get married or anything. She was just looking for someone to share her time and body with. 

A blaring car horn cut through her pathetic reverie. Not to be outdone, another other car honked, and soon enough the shouting and horns were all she could hear. 

“Hold on, let me get somewhere quieter.” She turned a corner, but she could still hear the noise, secondhand, coming through the phone. 

“Where are you?” Kylo asked again. 

“Nowhere.” She tensed. 

“I heard some honking and yelling. It sounded like some bullshit happening outside the hotel.” 

“The hotel from this morning? I’m nowhere near there.” 

“No, the Four Seasons. I’d never stay at that piece of shit from the workshop.” 

Rey thought it had been a really nice place, certainly nicer than where they’d usually put her if she was on assignment. But nowhere near as fancy as the Four fucking Seasons. 

She cleared her throat. “Which Four Seasons? There are a couple.” 

“Well, I’m not gonna stay downtown if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“You’re the worst.” 

“So you’ve said.” 

More quiet space. 

“Is the view nice?” she asked. 

She could hear him get up, making adorable fumfering noises as he went. He sighed. “It’s fine. I can see the Chrysler building, so that’s always nice. My mom always liked to see it.” He stopped, and Rey wondered if they were both holding their breath, hyper-aware of his admission. 

She leaned against a streetlight. “Can you see the park?” 

“No. The other suite can, though.” 

“Fancy.” 

“It’s the presidential suite, so it is quite fancy.” 

She scrunched up her face, trying to puzzle out if he was telling her what she thought he was. From her corner spot, she could see the illuminated flags hanging above the entrance, a doorman assisting with someone’s bags. 

“I bet you're quite high up,” she ventured. 

“51st floor. Almost the top.” Rey could hear him breathing again, more relaxed than before. “You know, there are actually only two rooms on this floor.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, 5101 and 5102.” 

“Ah.” Was this really all she could say? She spoke to people for a living and now for some reason all she could manage were weak _Ohs_ and _Ahs. Get it together_ , she scolded herself. 

“5101 faces the park. So…” he trailed off. Now she knew exactly where to find him, the ball unwittingly passed to her court. 

Her walk had helped her sober up, but she wasn’t sure if she was drunk _or_ sober enough for _this_. Her brain still felt all cloudy; a battle between want and need, should and shouldn’t. 

“I don’t know—” she started. 

“I could,” he interrupted, but paused. She could almost hear his grimace as he continued. “I could go down on you.” His voice was so tentative, almost a question. 

“You’d let me be on top?” 

“Yeah, definitely,” he responded quickly. “I mean, yeah, we could definitely try that.” His attempt to recover was so cute. _Kylo Ren? Cute? Didn’t see that coming_ , she thought. 

As they talked her feet had guided her to the front door of his hotel. The noise had long since dissipated, but she wondered if he could hear the familiar sounds of the lobby coming through from her side. 

“I can just come up then?” she managed. When had her voice gotten so quiet. 

“I’ll call down and let them know you’re coming,” he said immediately. She chuckled. So eager, this man. 

“See you soon, I guess.” 

“Definitely. See you soon, Rey.” And with that he hung up. 

His uncharacteristic eagerness stirred something petty in her. She was definitely going to go up to his absurdly fancy room and fuck him, but she was also going to make him wait a little. Nervously chewing on her thumbnail she tried to puzzle out the magic number of minutes that would be enough to drive him nuts but not so long that she became equally eager. Upper hand and whatnot. She wondered if every interaction would be a power struggle between them. 

Rey threw her shoulders back and attempted to project confidence as she stepped into the lobby. She tried not to feel small and shabby contrasted against elegance and opulence. She tried not to feel too foolish when a man in a suit told her _Mr. Ren is expecting you_ and she got on the elevator to almost certain regret. 

_In for a penny_ , she thought as the doors closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sometimes I post reylo drawings on [twitter](https://twitter.com/allielittlelegs), but mostly I tweet about disability stuff and libraries.


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